


it's not safe with anybody else

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adrenaline, Bathroom Sex, Control Issues, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Handcuffs, Kink Negotiation, Kinky, Loss of Control, Love Confessions, Massage, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Skye-centric, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Skye gave up control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not safe with anybody else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



> title from Aimee Mann.

**one.**

"Are you generally this bad at sleeping with people or just me?" he asks, trying to make his tone amused more than anything, with just the underside of concern.

Skye draws her hand over her face.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay."

They haven't been sharing the bed for long, and this has been happening often. Coulson tries not to take it personally but Skye has been having trouble getting rest when she stays over. The thing between them is new enough that it doesn't matter too much – the focus being the passionate hours before they sleep – but he wonders if there's something more here, something Skye is not telling him.

Skye sits up, massaging the back of her neck. He finds it unable to put her in context – Skye, hair a mess, sitting up in _his_ bed, in just an old t-shirt that hangs too loosely because it's actually Coulson's. 

"And here I've been told my mattress was very comfortable," Coulson says.

Skye raises an eyebrow. "You've been told that, uh?"

He sits up too and leans closer to kiss her arm. Skye _knows_ she's the first person he has slept with in a long while – definitely the first person to share this bed with him.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "You want to go back to your bunk?"

She shakes her head. "No. I like sleeping here."

"Except..."

Skye draws her knees to her chest. He wants to touch her but she looks serious and Coulson is not sure he wants to disturb that.

"It's just – this year hasn't been great for me, sleeping-wise," she explains. "Between the nightmares, and then the nightmares which made me shake the whole base, and then changing beds constantly."

"Sorry about that."

"No, no, _this bed_ I like," she says with such a charming smile Coulson feels disarmed, hopeless. "And there was that time I woke up covered in creepy acupunture needles and couldn't move."

He makes an agreeing sound.

He can't say he doesn't understand that kind of anxiety. And he doesn't like to talk about it but maybe it can help Skye to hear it.

"When I was carving I couldn't sleep very well," he says. "Not just because the impulse woke me up, all the time, specially at the end of it. Because I was afraid to go to sleep. What my body might do."

He can feel Skye's gaze on him as he says this, though he himself is trying to avoid it. He turns to her, a weak smile of understanding. She touches the back of his hand.

"I have my powers pretty locked down," Skye says. "I know that. But I'll always remember what it was like, to lose control."

"And it's worse when there's someone else in the room," Coulson realizes.

Perhaps even the fact Skye loves him makes this worse for her.

"Why don't you..." he's not sure how to help. "Relax? I'll stay up until you fall asleep again."

Skye nods, exhaustion in her narrowed eyes, and she lies across the bed, resting her head across Coulson's legs. He doesn't think she's done that before; he counts these things, he admits, like a teenager drunk on first love, the first time she does that gesture, the first time we do this together. He tries not to get too ahead of himself (they kind of lives they lead, the kind of circumstances this was born of, it would be useless to plan anyway) and just enjoy the moment. 

"Just, relax."

"Yes, this is a very nice place to relax," she says, shifting on his groin.

Coulson groans. Early days also means anything can send them into a spiral of desire – the slightest touch, a simple look exchange across a room. It makes the working days a bit more complicated. But that is not what Skye needs right now. And she knows that too, so she sighs and puts her weight on him, shifting to find the most comfortable position.

"It's not just the nightmares, there's... the other stuff," Skye says after a couple of beats.

She scrapes her nails across Coulson's bare knee, distractedly.

"What other stuff?"

"Sleeping with another person in the room, yes," she says. "Because. For one, I haven't really slept with anyone in over two years. And then there's my powers."

"Your powers," he repeats.

It's not about hurting him, Coulson can tell that by her voice.

"I can shut stuff out when I'm awake, no problem. Focus on what I want, not all this other – it's not _noise_ but I don't know how else to explain it. The world is shaking, always. And it's like I speak that language and everything is talking to me."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. So when I'm sleeping with you – _next_ to you, don't smile – the vibrations are distracting. You talk to me."

Coulson stares at her. He knows it must be uncomfortable for Skye, all this, but he can't help but being a bit in awe every time he finds out something else about her powers.

"My body talks to you? What does it say?" he asks.

Skye turns her head upwards a bit, smirks at him.

"Good stuff, mostly," she replies. "But sometimes I can feel it when you are sad, or stressed. Even if I'm sleeping. Specially if I'm sleeping."

"That's worrying."

"I don't do it on purpose," she points out. Makes sense. Boundaries are a big thing for Skye. 

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," Coulson tells her.

"I'll get the hang of it."

"Try and focus on one thing," he tells her, stroking the side of her face. Skye smiles. "Let everything else go."

"Yeah, not something I can easily do."

"No," he says, threading his fingers through her hair, reaching his fingertips to brush her neck. "But I'd like to help."

"Keep doing that."

He does.

He feels a bit self-conscious, now that Skye has said she can hear his body _talk_ , but he tries to use that too. He tries to relax his body so that it can be passed from him to Skye, if only a bit. As relaxed as one can ever get having a beautiful woman with her head on one's lap. He breathes deeply, trying to synch his breath to the rhythm of his caresses on Skye's neck.

"You don't have to do it all at the same time," he tells her. "Start with your fingers, relax your fingers."

He takes her hand in his, starts skimming over the skin of her knuckles, the senstitive skin between her fingers. He touches her wrist, the inside of her arm.

"Your elbow," he mutters.

He can feel her actually letting go, relaxing the muscles he passes his hand over.

She's not the first SHIELD agent to go through this, and if he could teach Natasha Romanoff some relaxation techniques back in the day he can definitely do this. Except she's the first SHIELD agent going through this who also happens to be his lover. He tries to keep his caresses helpful, not distracting. He draws his hand over her shoulder, feeling for the curve of her shoulder-blade through the fabric of her t-shirt.

"Tickles," Skye mutters.

"Sorry."

"No," she says. "It's actually relaxing."

She shifts her body so Coulson can easily access her back. These are some of the things he's learning about being Skye's lover: she finds it hard to relax, and she likes it when he touches her back. 

Coulson stares at her, her resting form over his body. It's the most fascinating thing of them all, that this came to be. He's gone through his share of miracles and disasters and nothing has been as inexplicable as this. In the last couple of weeks he's felt the impulse of asking her many times, how come they are doing this. He doesn't quite understand it, how she got here, how she ended up trying to fall asleep on his lap, but he's happy it happened.

"Coulson?"

"Yes."

"I'm really glad I'm here."

"Here sleepless at three in the morning?"

"Just... _here_."

Coulson knows what she means. And he remembers how this, this here, happened. It happened because Skye thought she had lost SHIELD, had lost Coulson. In more ways than on. Because she chose him. She chose him in every way.

"Okay, shutting up now," Skye adds, a bit flushed at her sudden confession. " _Relaxing_."

He can tell the exact moment she begins to fall asleep again, and the exact moment she fights it a bit, fearing what might wait on the other side.

"You'll stay awake for a while?" she asks, the kind of voice Skye doesn't easily let another human being hear.

He keeps combing his fingers through her hair. Remember what she told him about being able to hear his body speaking.

"Giving you good vibrations," he teases.

He can feel Skye's laughter in her throat.

"I can't believe you just said that," she tells him. "I might have to break up with you just for that, you know."

"Worth it," he mutters, patting her head softly. "Now sleep."

"Mmm uh."

 

 

**two.**

She slaps his hand away jokingly. Except it's not a joke.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

Coulson makes that face, the one that lets her know he's not falling for her bullshit but he will smile at it anyway, to make her feel better.

"Let me."

"Don't be a worrier, Director."

But there must be a reason why she came straight to his room – their room? she doesn't want to get too complacent about this, that's how things get ruined – because she might want him to say exactly this.

"I'm not asking you to go to medical," he says. "Just let me."

Skye huffs.

He grabs her arm gently but in trying to walk away Skye strains the injured area too much. She winces.

"Ouch," she complains.

"Sorry. But that proves my point."

"I'm fine."

"Skye, I saw you fall. It was a bad one."

"The vibrations absorbed most of the blow," she says, lamely, because yeah, like Coulson couldn't tell when she's lying. And she's a very good liar but Coulson is like a bloodhound.

"Still..."

She gives up – like she knew she would, like she knew might be the whole point of this exercise in stubborness – and lets Coulson unzip her jacket and pull the shirt over her head.

He's very professional and task-oriented about it. He prodes the shoulder-blade and the muscles under it gently but firmly.

"Is there a bruise?" Skye asks.

"Yes. Pretty big one."

"Damn," she mutters.

Coulson makes her try to push her shoulder back, to see how far she can move it, but she can't.

"You're impossible when you get wounded," he tells her, that awfully fond tone he uses sometimes that makes Skye hold her breath and makes her heart feel twice its normal size. "When did you become like this?"

"Maybe I learned it from you," she says back, a bit unkindly.

Coulson nods. "Fair enough."

He presses his whole palm against the shoulder, pushing Skye to stand straight. It hurts, but it relieves her too.

"You just need to let it rest," Coulson is saying. 

She can't deny there's an immediate relief in putting herself in his hands. She's always had a problem with it, as much as she also wants it, being taken care of. It goes with the upbringing, she guesses, resisting any form affection because it might prove temporary. Coulson is exactly the same, and she's not sure where it comes from. He tumbled into their intimacy pretty easily – more than Skye did, if she is being honest, and she still has parts of her own past, her own desires, she can't bring herself to show him yet, due to inexplicable silly fear – but the post-mission clean ups are something else. Are they both pretending to be invincible for each other's sake? Skye is not sure. She's never done this before.

Coulson starts rubbing the wounded area, forcing the muscles to loosen under his touch. Skye moans happily, a bit of the pain she had been experiencing since she fell ebbing away from her body.

"Are you going to give me a massage?" she asks. "How come I haven't gotten a massage from you before? I thought it was one of the perks of being in a established-ish relationship."

"I don't know," Coulson says, and there's something weird in his voice.

She steps out of his touch and turns around wanting to see his face. She moves her hand – the arm she can move without hurting – to grab the front of his shirt playfully.

"What? You don't know how to give a massage?"

She finds that impossible to believe.

"No, I do know."

"Don't I get boyfriend privileges?" she asks. He's trying it out, this defining thing. One week ago she still had trouble sleeping in here with him.

Coulson chuckles, but she can tell it's super-forced.

"It might bring back some bad memories," he tells her. "I don't know if I –"

"Because of Tahiti?"

She can see him make the words _it's a magical place_ in his mind even if he doesn't say them out loud. She wonders if that'll ever fade away from him.

She takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together, like some absurd attempt at comforting what could never really heal.

"But you used to do this before," she says.

He gives her a look. Of course. The cad. He must have given sexy massages to his many, many lovers. She wants to laugh because that only makes her feel lucky. One time Simmons asked her if she didn't think Coulson was too old for her and Skye had to take a moment to understand what the hell she was talking about. She never really thought about it before. Now she understands it in terms of experience, but that's a good thing, because he's done all this stuff before and he knows what he wants and amazingly enough it turns out _he wants her_ , if one could believe that.

"Did you like it?" Skye asks, very seriously.

"Very much," he admits.

"Did _they_ like it?"

"Very much." _Okay, Mr Playboy, slow down._.

Skye runs her hand over his chest and steps back, sitting on his bed.

"I used to like movies about werewolves," she says. "Don't judge, when I was a teenager. One night I went to my then-boyfriend's house for an all-night marathon of werewolf movies. Also for the first time we – well, you know. He broke up with me _the next day_ and from then on I couldn't stand the thought of watching a werewolf movie. I avoided them like the plague. Until a few years ago. You know when you live in a van and that's kind of claustrophobic so you want to spend as much time as possible anywhere else?"

"I don't think I've had that experience." He smiles. She's not try to get all sad-little-homeless-girl on him, she actually has a point.

"Well, that's what happens. One night they were showing _In The Company of Wolves_ in a cinema nearby and it was really cheap and it was a _really cold_ winter. So I decided, what the hell, I'm not going to let some jerk who hurt me when I was sixteen prevent me from watching dumb werewolf movies. And it's not that I like them anymore but they were this big thing that I was trying to avoid and I shouldn't have done that to myself."

Coulson stares at her words. He goes to her, sitting by her side.

"So you're saying I shouldn't let trauma prevent me from doing this?"

"Rantiness aside, yes, that was the point," Skye says. "I know what they did to you sucks. I know some things you don't really get over. But you can fight back."

"You really want that massage, don't you," Coulson teases. Skye can see the underlining tension – trying to distract with humor is supposed to be _her_ thing.

She really wants that massage yes. But she also wants him not to have hang-ups like this. He's such a wonderful person, Skye feels this childish impulse to try to fight any sad or painful thing in his life. Not that he needs protection because well, this is Coulson, he's a badass in every sense of the word, but she will still try to protect him anyway.

Coulson runs his hand over her shoulder again.

"Can you take off your bra?"

"Let's do this," she replies.

She does what he tells him and lies on her stomach.

The cool fabric of the covers feels nice against her bare breasts and stomach and Skye feels herself instantly relax. Even being alone in his room is enough of a novelty to make her shiver a moment, waiting for his touch, still discovering how she feels about it. It's kind of weird – sometimes she stops and thinks about it when they are fucking, that she's doing this thing with Coulson and it's _wow_ – but it's exciting too.

She hopes Coulson is relaxed too. Maybe she can learn how to give massages and do this for him, replace all those bad memories with better things. She'd like that. She wants to give him things, lots of things. 

Coulson moves closer. She was hoping he'd do that massage thing where he sits on her ass or something, that'd have been sexy, but apparently that's not his move.

"Close your eyes," he tells her gently.

Skye sighs happily as she does what he says.

He starts on her lower back, building tension and taking it away. His thumb digs into the area that holds her weight and Skye can feel him feeling for her vertebrae, watching her reactions for the one which hurts the most, the one which suffered the most stress.

Skye has never received a professional massage so she doesn't know how good Coulson is at this, but she knows she _likes it_. It's weirdly intimate, and that's not something Skye thought she'd be comfortable with, but she trusts Coulson in a way she's never trusted anyone, and she wants to show him.

His hands are amazing. Skye already knew that because duh, but hey, different context. She loves those hands, they're beautiful to her, not really graceful, a bit too callused by all the SHIELD years, but soft and precise. And it feels good to just let herself be in those hands. It had hurt, the fall, Coulson was right, of course he was. But she couldn't admit she had been in danger.

"It's okay to get hurt," he says, like he's reading her mind. His freaking superpower, she swears. "Even if you are a powerful gifted."

He moves his hands higher, pressing on the middle of Skye's back, pressing hard enough for it to hurt in the way it needs to. Skye sighs, at the attention or at his words, she's not sure. 

"The whole earthquake powers thing should be that I don't have to worry people again," she says.

What's the point of being a freak of nature if people are still going to worry about you? Skye feels like it should be part of the package. She can walk into a room and disarm a dozen bad guys in a second, that should count for something. She doesn't want to make people worry.

"We are going to worry anyway," Coulson tells her, voice soft and confident, like his fingers skimming to her side. "No matter how strong you are. You could be Asgardian, we'd still worry. That's the deal."

" _The deal_?"

"When people love you," he says.

Her heart thumps hard.

He said it so casually, he might not have meant it like she thought.

"Do _you_ love me?" she asks.

She knows this is pretty straightforward, specially for them. It's not like becoming lovers has come in a normal way.

He takes a moment to reply, rubbing the heel of his hand into the meet of her shoulders.

"Yes, I love you," he finally says. "And I'm in love with you. So you get what I'm trying to say."

Coulson has never been one for the protective stuff, even when she wasn't properly trained, even after she got shot. She finds it kind of funny that he tells her he worries about her _now_ , when she has somehow acquired freaky powers that could destroy whole cities. He's not about to tell her to stay off field missions, of course. Skye knows what _worried_ means in this particular case. Like everything else it's different for them than for other people.

"Okay," she says. "From now on I promise I'll tell if I get hurt."

It's not that she has a super-sense to go with her earthquake mojo but she can tell the kind of face Coulson is making right now, still worried (he's _in love with her_ , ha) but relieved. He runs his hand up her spine and wraps it around the back of her neck, starts massaging the base of her skull, pausing to play with her hair. When Skye is completely relaxed he goes to work where it hurts, manipulating the pain points expertly. They must teach you how to do this when you join SHIELD, Skye guess. But she bypassed all that when she joined so unorthodoxly.

"Don't fight the pain," Coulson tells her. "Get through it."

She remembers May saying something like that in one of her lessons, so yeah, it must be a SHIELD manual thing. Skye tries to do just that, let the pain flow instead of trying to ignore it or push it away. It's a bit scary because she had tried to use this technique with her powers and she had ended up with broken bones for reward. She has learned to separate her powers from her emotions now, so that shouldn't be a problem. But she still remembers how it felt like. Like Coulson and his Tahiti flashbacks, it's not easy fighting back. Like Coulson and Tahiti she doesn't think she'll ever be able to forget how it felt.

Only after a while she thinks she has relaxed completely, that illusion of control gone when she accepted her injuries and accepted Coulson's help and care. She feels liquid and complacent and she just wants him to keep touching her with those awesome hands for hours. Well, _not hours_ , because she actually wants to screw his brains out when he finishes with this.

"Do you worry about me?" Coulson suddenly asks.

Oh he is much smoother than her about this.

Skye smiles into the pillow.

"Yeah," she replies. "I do."

Coulson squeezes her shoulder, understanding perfectly.

 

 

**three.**

He might have never discovered that Skye likes this if he hadn't redecorated his office, maybe. Or if the setting sun hadn't been so stunning. Or if he wasn't such a smitten sap about the woman.

He had always enjoyed taking orders in bed, specially from Skye. It never occurred to him she's like to try the other way around. Skye doesn't seem the type, and he has no special desire to have her like that. And he's her boss, he's not sure she'd like the associations.

They've been kissing, for a long, long time, sitting on his new couch. The smell of new fabric a bit distracting, honestly. But Skye wanted to "try it" or "christen" the furniture or something that should have sounded silly but god help him he thought it was very sexy.

It's not the kissing that does it, it's her face.

Skye pulls back a moment and something about the way the light from outside catches in her hair, something about her reddish throughtly-kissed lips, and something about this moment, when they have been together enough that they know each other a little too well, but the hunger hasn't disminished a bit, something about it all throws Coulson off balance, makes him wonder if this ordinary moment is the one he's felt most in love with her or if it's the one Skye has been most beautiful and he doesn't want the moment to disappear.

She tries to lean towards him again – she's not done with the kissing tonight – but he raises one hand instinctively.

"Stay there," he says, and it comes out a little more assured than pleading.

Skye freezes and he can hear the smacking sound of her mouth opening slightly. 

Something in her eyes.

The reaction is not usual.

She's rooted to the spot, like Coulson's voice has some kind of magical power.

Skye enjoys giving orders, not following them. Coulson thinks about today's mission – not a bad one, just the usual demands. He knows mission gone well can be just as exhausting as missions gone wrong. Perhaps she is done giving orders today. 

"What?" she asks.

He tells her the truth. "I like how you look right now."

She smiles. He can see her fight to urge to slide to his side again, but she's also enjoying fighting against that urge, heeding his words. Coulson wants to kiss her again, badly, as badly as always, but he also wants to explore Skye's seemingly need desire to be told what to do. He extends one arm, touching her hair, drinking in the image for a moment longer.

"Are you feeling stressed?" he asks.

Skye rolls her eyes a moment, giving up her previous stance.

"I already have a shrink, Coulson."

"Lean back," he replies, more confident this time.

"Mmm?"

But she does, raising a challenging eyebrow.

She rests her back against the arm of the couch. Coulson wraps his hand around her knee and makes her rest her legs over his lap. He starts taking off her boots.

"Tough day out there," he points out.

"Had to make a tough call," she says as Coulson slips one boot off her. Skye is getting better at not putting up a verbal fight when she actually wants to tell him something. They are actually getting better at whatever it is they have here. "You know how that is."

"Yes," he says, unzipping the other boot. "Afterwards you feel like you don't want to make another decision in your life. You don't have the strength to even pick what to have for dinner."

She fixes him a defying glare. She does have a shrink already, and a good one. He doesn't mean to overstep, just to give his partner something she needs. She'd do the same. She has done the same, over and over. Last night, and in this very room, and Coulson can only remember the softness of her hair between his fingers as he pulled her to her knees, he remembers her smirk.

"Pretty much," she admits.

He pulls her jeans down as Skye slowly wiggles out of them.

Coulson takes one foot in his hand, kissing the inside of her ankle. He loves her ankles, he thinks he might have a fetiche with Skye's legs in general, or well, her whole body. It's hard to say, he's infatuated with every inch of it. May – bless her sould for only having this one complaint about their inappropriate boss-subordinate relationship – told him Skye just didn't seem like his type, that she was surprised at the choice. He spent that whole day fighting the urge to burst out laughing every time he looked at Skye. He would be hopelessly mad if she wasn't his type.

"Why are you smiling?" she asks.

He didn't know he was. He kisses above her ankle, her calf, trying to find that almost-impossible to see childhood scar, fine as a hair, that he sometimes notices. He slips his hands above her thighs, hooking his fingers into Skye's underwear.

"Your new couch..." she points out with a gasp, as he starts tugging at the fabric.

"Yeah."

Coulson watches her stretch out on the couch, watches her naked, taut and perfect body and wonders if people think she's too young for him. He doesn't give a damn if they do.

There's a peculiar imbalance in her nakedness against him. He hasn't even undone one button of his shirt. He would be more comfortable if he removed his jacket but he wants to do it like this.

Skye seems to notice it, too. He watches her whole body hold its breath.

"Tell me what to do," she says.

Something about that line sits uncomfortably with him, yet at the same time he can see why it's enticing, for Skye, for himself. _Tell me_. She's still in charge, in a strange way. He suspects she'll always be.

"You sure?"

She tilts her head.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," she says.

He takes her knee in his hands and presses a kiss against the side.

"Neither are you," he says.

Skye rebels at the idea, tries to touch him.

He grabs the arm reaching for him. He takes Skye's wrist and pushes the back of her hand against the couch. When he lets go she keeps it there.

"Just stay still," he says. "You don't have to do anything. Let me."

She half-smiles at him, her chest rising with visible and mysterious relief.

He slides his hands up and down her thighs, over and over, listening to the sound of his palms brushing skin. He could touch her like this for hours. Well, that's a lie, he wants to do some many other things to her, _with_ her but this is right here is very nice. Comforting. Gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't really felt since he was a kid. He'd like to tell Skye that but what if it's too early. He only told her he was in love with her a few days ago (though he was surprised there was any necessity for it, loud as his actions had always spoken). Yet it's hard to feel insecure between Skye's legs, feeling her body twist deliciously against his mouth. There it is too, that pressing sensation of belonging, whenever he goes down on her and Skye sighs with her whole body and touches his hair carefully.

Coulson sucks on his own fingers before pushing them into her, and that – both things, actually – win him a low moan of approval from his young lover. Hard to feel insecure with such reactions. He doesn't have to put too much movement into it, not with the way Skye is rolling her hips against his hand, he just lets her ride his finger for a while, lets her squirm exquisitely as the couch leather-like fabric creaks.

Suddenly he slips his fingers out as he lies back against the couch. He waits. Skye groans, loud. For the first time it occurs to him that, though it is late, anyone could walk in at any moment.

"I swear to god Coulson, if you don't touch me again right now," she starts.

He squeezes her knee, keeping her in place.

Then he stands up, the pout of frustration on Skye's lips is, frankly, delightful.

He removes his jacket slowly, very slowly.

Skye waits, very disciplined. Coulson would like to watch her touch herself, very much, but he is saving that idea for a special day.

He then kneels besides the couch and takes Skye's face in his hands and dips his head to kiss her. Skye arches an eyebrow but she indulges him, even though it's obvious she believes his attentions should be focused somewhere other than her mouth. Skye is not a patient person, Coulson knows this. He kisses her anyway. Skye wraps her fingers around the back of his neck, girlish and warm, as she kisses him back. He's kissed her _endlessly_ in the last few weeks – he's gotten drunk on their kisses, worn out kisses late at night after making love, or sloppy hello kisses in the morning before it, or stolen kisses in his office, dark corners in the base, any corner in the Bus. He's tasted every kind of kiss on Skye's lips: the trembling first kiss and the familiar explorations of late, kisses fueled by fear and adrenaline after a mission, remember-to-come-back kisses whenever one of them has to go on the field, hungry kisses and tender ones. Coulson himself has offered her all the catalogue, even that which he didn't know he had in him. He has kissed her in awe of her powers not in spite of them. He has kissed her in old clothes and against new furniture. He has kissed her because he wanted her, and sometimes because he needed her. He has kissed her in the hopes she might need him too. When he breaks this kiss Skye smiles up at him and licks her lips. It's enough to make him climb onto the couch again.

He positions himself between her legs, grabbing her by the back of her knees. Skye gives him a questioning look.

He lifts her legs until her heels are resting on his shoulders. His eyes never leave hers as he unzips (but not unbuckles) himself, freeing his cock with one hand while the other is still wrapped around Skye's ankle. She slides down the couch, readying herself, _impatient_. She'll have to wait a bit. He strokes himself languidly, under Skye's heavy-with-desire gaze.

Skye's fingers dig into the couch when he finally lines their bodies together.

Coulson rubs the tip of his cock against her in an upwards motion, then against her clit, watching as Skye tries not to thrash about out of frustration. The feeling of it is amazing and Coulson does it again, downwards this time, Skye shivering against the small sliver of contact.

"God, _Phil_ , what are you –?"

She very seldom calls him "Phil" and he smirks like a maniac at the sight of Skye overwhelmed by pleasure, struggling to keep a hold of herself. The whole point should be that she doesn't have to. He pushes a little into her, just to pull out immediately. Now Skye doesn't say his name, she just lets out a throaty moan, needy and wonderful. He repeats the movement, a shallow push then retreat. It takes a lot of self-control not to just sink into her already-familiar warmth, he wants nothing more right now, he knows how good it feels. But he is trying to get Skye to loosen up a bit first. God he wants her. He wants her so bad he can almost _taste_ it in his mouth. He wants this other thing for her more than that, right now. He works her with patience, listening for the hitch in her breathing that tells him she's too close and he has to stop until she has gotten a hold, and frustrated, is trying to build that momentum again. He'd feel bad but she's done this to him before – just last night, in this very office, tongue slowly swirling over the tip of his cock until he had to beg for Skye to take him – and he has always been grateful afterwards.

But he miscalculates a bit and Skye comes – hard and _surprised_ – and he only has the head of his cock buried in her, the shock of her orgasm almost too much like this, he almost loses his supposed cool at that. He grabs the back of the couch to stop himself from kneeling over, basically.

He immediately scoops Skye in is arms, sitting back on the couch. She's basically dead weight for a moment, her arms loose and light around his neck while her legs keep him pressed to her, hooked behind his back, the strange, too-real sound of bare flesh against the fabric of his suit. He can't really move in this position, can't really thrust up, but it's all worth it because she's so close and he can smell her sex-happy sweat and her arousal and this is the best place he could be. He lets Skye's weight do the job, using the little friction he gets to drive himself home.

"It's kind of nice, this not having to do anything for once," Skye says afterwards, still holding onto him, with Coulson still inside her, smirking and kissing the side of his neck.

"We wouldn't want you to get lazy, though," he admonishes.

Skye laughs, relaxed and happy and in his arms. Coulson leans back a moment, staring at her. The light outside has almost died but when she looks at her he decides, no, this is the moment when she's the most beautiful, when I'm most in love.

 

 

**four.**

In the safehouse bathroom she checks her wounds. Nothing too bad, considering they barely escaped. It takes Coulson a couple of minutes to clean his own cuts and bruises, dropping his flask vest on the tiled floor with a loud thud.

They've just left Bobbi, up to her eyebrows in painkillers and dead to the world, in the bedroom across the hallway.

Skye narrows her eyes at the reflection on the cabinet mirror before turning to Coulson, angry or afraid or something even worse, something cutting deeply into her.

"The Delta team should have been cleared," she says.

He looks like he knows that, makes an apologetic grimace. 

"We messed up," he admits. "The comms –"

"I brought the building down on you."

"We're all okay, we all got out."

Okay is not how she would define what happened today and she rolls her eyes and steps back when Coulson tries to reach one hand to her. He should know he can't always make everything better with a kiss and a caress. She could have killed so many people today and why – she followed the plan, she kept to the timeline. It shouldn't feel like this was her fault. This is freaking unfair, that's what it is.

"Tell that to Bobbi," Skye mutters.

"This shouldn't have happened," Coulson tells her.

She stares at the collar of his t-shirt, red-smeared peeking from under his open shirt. They were so focused on getting out there and getting to the safehouse, she hasn't had time to process it. He's hurt and she's the one who made it hurt.

"I could have killed somebody," she says. "I could have killed you."

"We fucked up," he says. "It happens."

"It's not enough," she tells him. She needs him to stop being this stupid helpful guy who loves her right now. She wants his anger too, she wants to know she's not alone feeling shitty. How dare he leave her alone. "And you would be saying it's not enough, if the situation was reversed. You've said this before."

She looks down at her hands. She could hear Coulson's imagined, very rational voice in her head, telling her this could have happened anyway if she had been setting off bombs, that her abilities have nothing to do with it. He'd say that and he would be wrong.

"This power... it's too much," Skye says. "Too big. Some days I just don't want it."

"I know."

"I messed up."

"You followed the plan," Coulson tries to tell her. "It wasn't your fault. It was ours, we weren't fast enough."

"Your fault? You weren't the one who could bring a building down. And I–"

No, it's definitely anger. Hot and slimy.

She can feel the sink shake where she is holding onto it. The whole bathroom too, a wave of soft but irate vibrations. Skye grits her teeth. A stupid reason to slip, when she has been so good at keeping it under control. Except she hasn't slipped, she meant to do that. Coulson walks up to her, wrapping one hand around her shoulder.

"Skye, I've been doing this a bit longer than you have," he tells her. "What you're feeling? It's adrenaline. It will tear you apart if you let it. You need to come down from it."

Skye stares at him.

"Then _make me_."

Coulson fumbles a bit against her desperate kiss, against her teeth and her scratching hands, but soon finds his footing, gripping her hips with intensity, backing her against the bathroom counter. She takes his mouth, digs her fingernails into his shoulders, and she knows she's not the only on suffering from the effects of adrenaline, the way Coulson is holding her right now. The way he is kissing back. And Skye could stop and wonder how it is that he always seems to know what she needs, that he always seems to need it too, how she's never had such a lover, but she doesn't waste that precious time, not when Coulson is already pulling down her pants and underwear, grinding his hips against her body. She steps out of her clothes messily, pressing her knees to his sides. Everything smells like the disinfectant they use to clean their wounds, and the place is cold and quiet, the clicking sound of Skye's hand unbuckling his belt filling the whole bathroom. She wraps her hand around his cock but he doesn't need help, he's already as hard as she's ever felt him and Skye has to clench her legs together, feeling a too-much-too-soon wave of desire come over her.

Coulson lifts her off the ground, and Skye wraps her legs around his waist, feeling the cold counter under her ass, Coulson's warm skin trapped between her thighs. He doesn't waste time, either, lining their bodies, urgent like they're at the end of the world. She's only half-wet and she enjoys the slight discomfort when Coulson pushes all his length inside her in one movement, fast and unforgiving, it makes everything feel more real, it makes her believe they got out alive. She knows she always gets this weird when a mission goes south, when someone gets hurt. She needs to stop. She needs to accept things will get messy, people will get wounded. Coulson, even. She needs to – or she'll make things worse.

She doesn't know how to stop. Maybe this is a good place to start, her arms around Coulson's neck while he thrusts into her desperatedly, her skin like it's on fire.

No, she needs something else.

She needs she needs she needs.

She puts her hands to his chest and pushes him away, gasping when his cock slips out. Coulson looks at her like he doesn't understand, for a moment, then Skye turns her back to him, gripping the edge of the counter with her hands, pressing her back against him. Coulson wraps one hand around her shoulder, squeezing, while he uses his other hand on Skye's waist to keep her still as he pushes inside her again, Skye muttering a half-surprised "Fuck" because the angle is so good, and the anger is so good, and the way Coulson can make her shed everything she doesn't need is so good. He hits her deep and she really has to hold onto the counter or she fears she might bang her head against the cabinet, the sharp sound of flesh against flesh drowning everything out for a moment.

She needs she needs she needs.

Then she catches sight of herself in the mirror and all the events of the day replay themselves in her mind. She clenches around Coulson's cock and pushes back hard, making him choke out a moan with her name as he figures out how to meet her rhythm.

"I'm not a weapon," she says through her teeth, but loud enough that he can hear her.

"No," Coulson agrees, pressing his mouth to back of her shoulder. "You're Skye."

He slows down – no, she doesn't want that, she doesn't want to feel _that_ right now – kissing her hair, her neck, her arms. His thrusts become deeper, pushing her harder, until Skye has to make an effort not to lose balance, her body shaking in anticipation every time Coulson pulls back, bracing herself white-knuckled on the counter for the next wonderful blow.

She watches Coulson's face in the mirror as he fucks her. Coulson's loving and beloved face.

She needs she needs she needs.

She needs him.

She whimpers, feeling something slip from her.

"Are you okay?" Coulson asks, fearfully sliding out of her, thinking he's hurting her.

"Don't," she says. "Please."

Don't stop. But he gets it. He plants his hands on her hips again, anchoring her body, and pushes into her, picking up the rhythm. He moves his hand around her waist, between her legs, rubbing hard against her clit.

It ends soon after that, both beyond exhausted and holding on by some miracle, the last drops of adrenaline used so they can both get off.

Skye comes harder than she remembers, so deep it almost hurts to breathe, and only barely realizing they are not alone in the safehouse in time to stop herself from screaming. She falls back, all energy gone from her body, limp in Coulson's arm as he quietly finishes himself with her whispered name against her messy hair. She thinks after this she could sleep for a million years.

She finally turns around, grabbing the front of his shirt and panting into the blood-dirty collar. Coulson holds her up when her knees buckle for a moment and she feels like she wants to thank him, but not for that. Instead she starts kissing the hollow of his neck – Coulson unable to stop his oversensitive body from shaking like crazy at the contact, worn out and as affected as Skye by what has just happened between them. He throws one arm around her shoulder to pull her closer and Skye touches his face, gingerly, like she doesn't want to frighten away a wild animal.

"I think I need a shower," she says, fingers stroking Coulson's jaw.

"We both do," he says.

They peel each other's clothes with care, finally. She wants to cry at the extent of his injuries, but he kisses the impulse away, settles her down, takes the last bits of tension away and by the time they step into the shower together Skye is feeling a lot like herself.

Under the blissfully hot water they regain some illusion of normalcy. This is something they have done many times. They help wash each other's bodies from the ashes and the dried blood. They wash their hair, Skye running her fingers through Coulson's short hair, watching the shampoo clear away while he presses his mouth to her raised arm.

She skims her palm over the ugly bruise on his shoulder, runs her fingers into the grooves of his ribcage, his stomach, his hips, drawing the beautiful parts of him she wants to keep safe forever. Another bruise on his right arm. She wonders how the hell he was able to lift her by the hips when he was fucking her, with that injury.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he tells her, his hand on the small of her back, mouth pressed against her temple as he pulls her into a hug.

"Yeah."

And finally, finally she's ready to believe him.

 

 

**five.**

He holds the handcuffs in his hand, regarding them (and Skye) with an inquisitive look.

"You can vibrate these open any time you like, I don't see what's the –"

"Maybe that's the point," Skye admits. "I _know_ I can break free. But I don't have to."

He makes a non-commital sound, not sure how he feels right now.

"I did think about asking Simmons to make us vibration-resistant handcuffs but I'm not sure I could explain that one," she tells him.

Coulson smirks. "And you'd be appropriating SHIELD's resources. There are no levels anymore, but you're a superior officer."

"But I have a birthday coming up," she replies, pouting.

He chuckles but lowers his gaze.

"You don't like the idea," Skye says, reading him perfectly. Either he has become an open book lately, or she is freaky good at this.

"It's not that," he says, trying to let her down gently.

"You told me you used to enjoy this stuff."

"Yeah but I enjoy being the one tied up," Coulson explains. "I don't know if I can..."

He swallows, trying to fight contradicting desires here. The desire to please Skye in whatever she might want from him, the desire to never see her at anyone's mercy, specially his own. A fantasy, he gets that, but he can't help the knee-jerk reaction. The image of Skye handcuffed – until he remembers she can break freak with the slightest thought. He's not sure he can do it.

She leans back against the headboard, giving Coulson an understanding look.

He knows Skye has been struggling with something these past couple of weeks. He suspects it has to do with almost having killed her own team due to a mistake. They haven't really talked about it since then.

"I hope you don't think our sex life has gotten boring," he teases. He knows if they are going to have problems it's not going to be because of this.

"So boring," Skye replies. "This morning in the shower? I was practically falling asleep."

Coulson smiles shyly at her. He does not regret the extra time it took them to get dressed.

"But you've been thinking about this," he says, running his fingers across her thigh.

"Yeah," Skye admits. "I don't know why once I started thinking about it I couldn't get it out of my mind."

He suspects why. He's been doing this longer, and he has had better luck in partners, he thinks, judging from the way Skye feels like she needs to justify her desires.

"Is it okay for us to talk about it?" she asks, a bit tentative.

Coulson nods, because, well, of course that's okay. He might say no, but he's not going to shut her out.

Skye crosses her legs, leaning further back on the bed. Coulson thinks she looks too youthful like this, more than she's looked in ages, and he realizes why; it's not like her to hesitate about something. Then again, it's not like him to refuse her anything.

"I've never had anyone to talk to about this stuff," she tells him. "Miles was great, but he wouldn't have understood, even if I told him. You get it."

He nods again. Perhaps Skye doesn't realizes but this is new to him too. Not the talking – he's always liked talking about what to do in bed with his partners. But he was used to giving more than receiving, when it came to intimacy, an avoidance strategy in some way, because it's easier, because you don't have to reveal yourself so much that way and that's good when you think there's not much to reveal anyway. With Skye he's learning not to do that. They are partners in a completely different way. So he understands what she is saying better than she thinks.

He grabs her hand. 

"It's just – yes, I've been having these fantasies about you, you know, doing this," she tells him. 

Coulson likes the idea of Skye having fantasies about him, even if he's not sure he can fulfill this one.

"I see," he replies, trying to sound warm.

She still hasn't told him everything, he suspects.

Skye sighs, getting to the heart of it.

"Dont' say I told you so but... After what happened at the safehouse I realized sometimes I find it hard to – uh – unwind."

He looks at her. She's taken on so much responsibility lately. And her powers, her constant growth – Coulson understands, wants to lend a hand. He picks up the handcuffs again.

"And you think this would help?" he asks.

She shrugs.

"I know you don't like the idea of having that kind of power over me and I get it. But I trust you, and I kind of want you to know that. And as you said, I could break free whenever I wanted."

Trust is big with Skye. And Coulson doesn't press but he's a smart guy, he doesn't have to. He doesn't need her psych evaluation to know why.

"We can try," he tells her.

Her eyes widen. That's the other thing about Skye, apart from the trust. She's not used to getting what she wants, it still comes as a shock sometimes.

"Really? But only if you want to."

He strokes the side of her face, stretching to catch her lips for a moment.

"I want to," he says. He thinks so.

He instructs her to sit with her back against the headboard so he can cuff her to it, her hands above her head. He stares at her – yes, there has been a strange tension building up for days and Skye looks like she needs a break. He kisses her wrist, lips pressed very softly over the pulsepoint. Then he closes one cuff around it, pinning her other hand besides it, then he repeats the gesture, the kiss. Skye holds her breath when he closes the second cuff, like it's something really sexy he's just done.

Skye struggles a bit against the handcuffs to test them.

"Comfortable?" Coulson asks.

She nods. "You?"

He looks at her. The context is what matters. Skye handcuffed, yes, but of her own free will and looking out at him with such love and lust.

"I'm all right," he says and she beams at him.

She tries to kiss him back but he pulls away playfully.

He undoes the buttoms of her denim shirt slowly. She was just idling in his room and she is not wearing a bra, which is perfect. He kisses a line between her breasts, murmuring how beautiful she is against the soft skin.

"At least take off your shirt," Skye says.

Coulson happily indulges her, always a bit amazed at how much she likes to look at him. He personally thinks himself nice to look at but it's lucky Skye seems to agree with that opinion. He stays in his t-shirt – gotta keep them wanting more and god did he just think that, what the hell is happening to him? other than unexpected, ridiculous happiness – and Skye snorts at him.

He covers her breasts with his hands, kissing her slowly as he draws her fingers across her chest, swirling his thumb across her nipple until she gasps into his mouth. He pulls back, look at her hands. She's not struggling against the restraints, but she's made her hands into fists. Coulson wonders if they should have used something else, a scarf, maybe one of his ties. Handcuffs are too... But she picked them so he stops thinking about that and starts kissing her breasts.

Skye wraps one leg around his back when he takes her in his mouth. She makes a tiny "ah" sound and she finally struggles a bit against the cuffs. Coulson knows, intimately, this is the fun part of it. Not being able to move as you want and having to depend on your lover to give you want you want, to know better, to be contrary or make you wait. He hopes Skye is having fun. He brushes his teeth carefully across her nipple. He licks circles around it.

"I love how you taste," he tells her, almost too distracted to think about what he's saying.

"Yeah?"

"So much," he says, touching his tongue against the thin film of sweat forming on the hollow of her neck.

"I'd like to get my mouth on you as well," Skye says, then lets out a small chuckle. He knows she finds sexy talk as she calls it, ridiculous.

Coulson slides his hand along the length of her arm, coming to rest above her wrists.

"Well, you can't," he tells her.

Skye swallows. It's an amazing sound and Coulson is beginning to suspect this was actually a good idea.

"I want–" she starts. "I want to touch your chest."

"You can't," Coulson repeats.

She shuts her eyes tightly. "Fuck."

She presses her thighs together, whining a bit when the wave of desire hits her hard.

Coulson kisses her and decides to be merciful.

He gets her pants and underwear out of the way, making her slide a bit down the bed, as much as the handcuffs allow without making it too uncomfortable.

"Hurts?" he asks, watching the tension in her hands.

"I'm fine," she says, voice thick with desire.

She's already so wet when he crawls between her legs.

He flattens his tongue against her. He teases her, lapping and pressing but never pushing inside as he knows she wants – she's trying to push her hips down, and the cuffs are restraining her more than she though. He stops and starts a couple of times, pausing to bite the top of her thigh tender but unsatisfying for her, no doubt.

He pulls back and lifts his face towards her.

"How are you doing?" he asks.

"Really struggling not to break these handcuffs right now, Director."

Coulson chuckles.

"What?" she asks.

"I just think it's very you, the idea that to lose control you have to exercise even more control," he comments.

She looks away a moment, like she didn't imagine she'd be caught.

"I guess."

The smile is gone and Coulson looks at her very seriously. 

"I love you," he says, like it's the first time he says it, like it's always the first time.

Skye smirks. "Well, obviously."

He kisses her. He really does, love her. Like he didn't imagine himself loving another human being. That itself is a scary loss of control, a loss of control greater than he ever imagined, and he likes feeling in control just as much as Skye does.

He crawls down the length of her body, unable to keep himself from giving her what she wants. She comes, shallow and easy, with a whimper of surprise, as soon as Coulson pushes his tongue into her.

The handcuffs rattle.

He kisses the line from her hip to the inside of her thigh, kissing the oversensitive skin purposedly while Skye tries to wiggle her body away, Coulson can feel her fighting the handcuffs and fighting the easiness with which she could break them. She arches her body, trying to escape from Coulson's mouth but he presses one palm on her stomach and settles her back on the mattress, sucking right above her belly. Little low noises trapped in the back of her throat, in her lungs. He draws the outline of her shotgun scars with the tip of his tongue. Carefully, because he knows the sensation is not pleasurable for her sometimes. He remembers that night – the third they spent together – when Skye showed him where to touch her, and where she didn't like it, she talked him through it and he did the same for her. They talked mostly, exploring each other with words as well as their hands and mouths. It was one of the happiest nights of Coulson's life. And that's when he learned that Skye liked it when he touched her scars, but he had to be careful how. Now Skye is squirming to get away from his touch but Coulson can tell it's in a good way.

"Oh _come on_ , man," Skye complains.

He only stops when she stops fighting it and lets the tension build again at the bottom of her stomach as he continues to touch her on the most tender places.

"Coulson..."

"Yeah, yeah, wait a moment."

He rolls off the bed to remove his pants.

"Hey," Skye says when he climbs back.

"Hello," he replies, feeling terribly adolescent about this, slipping his hands around Skye's waist.

He lifts her up so his knees are under her and she's sitting on his thighs, pinned against the headboard, her head at the same height of the handcuffs. Coulson licks a line of sweat off the side of her neck as he lowers her body onto him.

The little satisfied, blissful moan she lets out as she sinks into him fully is the most devastating things Coulson has ever heard and he is _ruined_ , ruined beyond hope, because he just wants to hear it again and for the rest of his life. He can physically feel all the tension drain out of her body and he wonders if she is making something vibrate inside him because this feels too good to be normal.

There's a little clinking noise when Skye pulls at the handcuffs a bit too hard, trying to put her arms around Coulson. He presses her against the headboard of the bed, hard, as he pick up the rhythm of his thrusts. Drawing his teeth gently across her throat he tastes the sound of her moans, the echo of her whimpers as they vibrate against her ribcage.

"Hell, Coulson, slow down, I'm gonna–"

But it's already too late.

He can never get enough of this, feeling Skye go over the edge all around his cock and in his arms. It's always gone too soon, the exact moment, and he's soon holding onto the aftershocks, holding on to the image of Skye with her head thrown back, her hair stuck to her forehead, dark skin glistening and mouth half-open against Coulson's cheek.

She lets her head drop afterwards, like she's exhausted, and Coulson waits until the shaking stops, a silly smile of content on her lips. He's been holding off his own orgasm to great cost to his sanity and the feeling of her hot, wet breath on his neck might just be the thing that pushes him over.

"Stop," she says as he starts moving inside her again.

He stops.

Skye lifts her head to look at him.

"Uncuff me," she says. 

Something about the unmistakeable nature of that _order_ , after Skye has played submission, goes straight to Coulson's cock. It's some kind of damn miracle that he doesn't come from that.

He pulls out and takes the key from the bedside table, freeing Skye with almost trembling hands.

Once she's free she's like a natural disaster (no pun intended, he _swears_ ), mouth first, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back onto the mattress, hard, straddling him with arms and legs until he can't move one inch. She opens his mouth with a feral kiss, like they haven't seen each other in weeks.

"Coulson..." she calls.

"Y-yes?"

She smiles and twists one hand into his t-shirt, pulling down the neck until she mouths the fading bruise on his collarbone and then sucks like she is trying to give him a hicky. It's so nice he almost misses it when Skye wraps her hand around his cock, between their bodies.

"Oh jesus fu–" Skye swallows the rest of his obscenities in one hard kiss, and in the end Coulson is not exactly sure what makes him come, the fingers stroking his length, or the tongue pushing inside his mouth with absolute authority. Not that it matters because it's both; he comes against her kiss, he comes between their bodies.

She's still kissing him, and he is still riding it off, when she rubs the skin of her wrist and there's definitely a red-ish strip around it that he doesn't feel guilty about because Skye looks so fucking happy about it all and she says between kisses, "God I love you", like it's the first time she tells him. Like it's always the first time.


End file.
